


Skinship

by MaxxR



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A little angst, Cuddling, Hobbits need to cuddle to live, Hopefully not too much fluff, Lots of dialogue, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of Roman-style orgies, Mostly Fluff, POV swap in the middle, Rushed I'm sorry, Thorin thinks it's the other kind, UST, bagginshield, mentions of disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13059150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxxR/pseuds/MaxxR
Summary: Hobbits require skinship to stay healthy. Thorin wants to help. Pre-slash with a POV swap.





	Skinship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paranoid_fridge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoid_fridge/gifts).



_Bilbo_  
Beorn’s Hall is a reprieve so welcome to Bilbo that on the morning of the second day he hides away amongst the tall grass that surround the place just to breath the sweet air. They have come so far, and survived so much, and though there is much more ahead of them, it is less than what is behind. Bilbo stays there all morning until the hot summer sun warms his aching skin, and the soft grass and good earth under his tired feet restores him. 

The world outside the Shire is filled with so much; filled to the brim with heroes, and monsters, monuments and ruins. But compared to the Shire Bilbo would be hardpressed to say that it is filled with life. Oh, there were many people and things living, but more often than not they are hard lived- bitter and hardy. There seems to be little joy for the sake of it to be found anywhere. 

No wonder the Company acted so resentfully toward him in the beginning. They were not wrong about him entirely. Bilbo is a soft creature from a kind place, accustomed to beauty and plenty. The harshness of the Outside World has long been feared by the Shire Folk, and for good reason! But lately things have been different. The others have begun to warm up to him in earnest, including Bilbo in their jokes, and inviting him to share stories with them. He may be a soft thing, but Bilbo has never been a coward. With his courage now proven Bilbo feels more lighthearted. 

It is almost enough. 

The sun rises higher in the sky, and Bilbo guesses that it’s nearly elevenses. Not that he’ll have any, and he’s missed second breakfast too! His father would be scandalized! Laughing quietly at the thought Bilbo goes back to the house. 

The others are scattered around the Hall in small groups, and Bilbo smiles to see that they’ve not only broken into family groups. Fili, Kili and Ori sit together carving arrowheads. Dori sits with Balin and Bombur, the three appearing to be in the throes of some very good gossip. Dwalin is helping Bifur clean around his old ax wound. And the rest seem to be cleaning their weapons, passing rags, and whetstones and some kind of wax. 

In a further corner, Bilbo spots Thorin with Oin. They seem to be having some trouble and, worried, Bilbo goes to them. As he approaches he can hear that they’re speaking in Khuzdul, but it doesn’t bother him the way it did before. He trusts that they aren’t talking about him, and after all why wouldn’t they speak in their first language when it’s just them? Bilbo will freely admit to missing the sounds of his own native language. 

“Ah…” he stutters unsure how to interject, or if he should at all. They turn to him, and Oin looks strangely pleased to see him. 

“Come now master burglar and lend an old healer yer hands, mm?” 

“My hands?” Bilbo steps closer and sees that Thorin has taken off his tunic entirely, as well as the many bandages that had covered his wounds. He isn’t healed much, really. Some of the more shallow wounds have begun to close, but the deeper ones still bleed, sluggishly, in a way that is not too concerning, but is still terrible to see. 

“These wounds need cleaning…” says Oin, and raises his hands to let Bilbo see them. They’re sturdy hands, like all dwarrows’ are, stained from a hundred years of poultices and potions. But also they tremble. Just a little, but enough to make the delicate task before him difficult. 

“Oh… it’s a-”

“-palsy. Aye.”

“Oin. I’m so sorry…” Bilbo begins, but Oin scoffs good-naturedly. 

“It’s to be expected: runs in the family. I’ve got my wits and the lot of yeh to do what I can’t. Speaking of which!” 

Oin pulls Bilbo over to stand in his place, and begins to instruct him on what to do while handing him clean cloths and salves. For his part Thorin says little, and Bilbo wonders if this is very embarrassing for him. They start with the smaller wounds that require less fussing with. Oin hums approvingly as Bilbo works. 

“That’s a fair start. Yer hands are quite nimble, mm? I’m going to make one of the lads boil more water, yeh just keep going like that!” Bilbo pretends not to see how Oin clenches his hands to try and steady them as he walks away. Any healer would hate to lose their hands like that, but he thinks it might be worse for someone who’s dwarrow and a healer too. 

“It is not uncommon,” Thorin says, not looking at either Bilbo or Oin’s retreating form “For one such as him to join quests like ours. It gives them a chance to try for glory a last time before…” 

Bilbo says nothing for a moment, his ears drooped in melancholy thought. “I think master Oin would like to die in Erebor.” At this Thorin finally looks at him, shocked. Bilbo continues, “Either fighting a dragon, or comfortably installed in the best home he’s known. I think he would not like to die anywhere else.” 

“Sometimes I think you are a silly thing, Bilbo Baggins. And then you go and say something like that. How is it that you see right through us all?” 

“Through you? Not at all! Only…” Bilbo pauses in his task; his eyes meet Thorin’s and it occurs to him just how close together they stand. Close enough that he can feel the gentle puffs of Thorin’s breath on his face, close enough that he has to strain his neck a little to look at him. 

“Only… it happens to Hobbits too, sometimes. Usually when one’s mate has...died unexpectedly. After my father-” Bilbo’s voice catches, “My father passed from a terrible wasting sickness. Mother… wilted. When the trembling started, she moved to Tuckborough, back into the Great Smeal. She wanted to die in the place she’d been born.” 

“And what did you do?” Thorin’s voice is a gentle rumble, thick with kind of empathy only someone who has experienced similar pain can have. It’s sympathy rather than pity, that shines in the rich blue of his eyes. ‘He is so good’ Bilbo thinks, wondering what Thorin must see looking down at him.

“I stayed. My parents made that place with their love for one another. They made me that way also. I stayed because Mother didn’t want me to see her weak. I stayed so I could remember them as they wanted to be remembered.” 

“You stayed.” Thorin repeats, thoughtful. “All alone?” 

“For the most part. I could never quite abide having anyone over. Not even for tea. But I went ‘round properly; accepted invitations. For a while I never missed an orgy.” 

“O-orgy?” Thorin’s face turns red, and Bilbo finds it very charming. 

“Of course! They’re great fun. Do dwarrow not have orgies?” 

“I have never been to one…” 

“Really? Perhaps they aren’t common outside the Shire.” Bilbo had wondered why the Company had not had at least one, but if they weren’t done… 

“Your Shire really is a rather decadent place,” Thorin says a little breathless, as Bilbo goes back to his task. Really there wasn’t any need to mention the orgies, but in truth Bilbo had been hesitant to continue such a melancholy subject. And as for Oin’s hands, it wasn’t right to gossip too much. 

“Is it?” 

“To have orgies commonly? I’d think so!” 

“Hm… but it’s the best way for the unmated to get skinship.” 

“What’s that?” 

Now it’s Bilbo’s turn to be scandalized. “Skinship! Touch-” but the common tongue doesn’t have any other way to say it, he realizes. “The need to touch and be touched, just as one needs to breath, to sleep, to eat… a hobbit wilts without touch.” 

“Wilts?”

“It’s... a bit like a wasting sickness. Though it is possible to recover from a wilting just started if the cause is found and dealt with. A hobbit who goes too long without touch will wilt.” 

Thorin inhales sharply, but Bilbo does not look at him. So much for lightening the mood. He is nearly done when Ori delivers new water to them. Bilbo offered his thanks, and Ori retreats quickly, though if it is because of the mood around them or just because his king is unclothed Bilbo isn’t sure. 

“Who…” Thorin swallows thickly, continues a little awkwardly. “Who has been… touching you, if it is something you need?” 

“Oh… no one.” Bilbo replies faintly. 

“No one.”

“Mm. You lot don’t seem to touch much, except maybe to wrestle. It didn’t seem polite to impose.” 

“But you said…” 

“Oh I’ll be alright! It’s not yet been a year. I guess I’m just, oh, fasting for now.” 

Bilbo doesn’t say that he’s unsure if any hobbits will want to indulge him when he returns home. He keeps that anxiety to himself. Certainly not anyone in Hobbiton will have him now, though perhaps his cousins in Tuckborough will not begrudge him a cuddle. They’re not so offended by adventures as the rest are after all. 

“Fasting. Have we been cruel to you?” 

“Oh no! Not on purpose! Really Thorin don’t-” his words catch, his throat closing around them, as Thorin ever so gently cups one hand against Bilbo’s face. It’s warm, and so strong. His thumb swipes soothingly under Bilbo’s eye, his fingers splayed wide enough to brush against his ear, his jaw, his neck. 

Purely on desperate instinct Bilbo covers that hand with his own to hold it there. His eyes close, and he turns his face to press his mouth into Thorin’s warm palm. He shouldn’t… It isn’t something dwarrow do, Bilbo knows he shouldn’t impose so much. But he can hardly turn away from an offered hand than one wracked with thirst could turn away from water. 

“Have we been cruel to you?” Thorin repeats. Bilbo look up at him through his eyelashes, but can’t find the strength to let go of his hand.

“A little.” he confesses into Thorin’s palm. 

“I wish you would have said something.” 

“Would anything have been done?” 

 

 _Thorin_  
Thorin is stricken by the question, but they both know that even a week ago it wasn’t very likely. Before Bilbo had escaped from the Goblins’ domain by himself, before he stood between Thorin and Azog unflinching at the face of death, they had dismissed him as too soft - lost. ‘How stupid’. Thorin thinks. Was it not Bilbo who distracted the trolls until sunrise? Had he not begun to prove himself even then? 

Bilbo’s cheek is soft in his hand. His lips against his palm is electric. Thorin looks at him, really looks. He sees what he saw before, a soft and exotic creature. Small and peaceful; he is not a warrior, he isn’t actually a thief either. But where Thorin had seen these things as weakness before, he begins to understand that they also mean that Bilbo is very brave. How terrifying the world must be to such a small thing? Certainly the hobbits are not wrong to fear the perils that wait outside their sanctuary. 

From now on, Thorin vows to himself, their burglar will not starve for anything that he can provide. It’s the best he can do, at least until Erebor is retaken. 

“From now on, if you have need… you-” he starts, a little embarrassed. When it comes to matters of state, or great speeches to rally his warriors, Thorin has no shortage of words. But in moments such as this, intimate and vulnerable, his education fails him. “I will provide…”

Bilbo lets go of his hand then, tries to gather himself. “I don’t wish to impose.”

“It is no chore.” Thorin interjects quickly. The hobbit, he sees now, has too much pride to beg. He can respect that. Thorin too hates to scrape before another, though he will for the sake of his people. He puts his hand against Bilbo’s face again, and the other, holding Bilbo’s round jaw, fingers against his neck. “You have been… indispensable to our cause. To my cause. I think were it not for you we would not have even made it past the Trollshaws. If you need this to sustain yourself it is the least I can do.” 

“Oh…” 

Thorin thinks that he does not deserve to be looked at with the obvious awe on Bilbo’s face. 

“Then please. If it isn’t too much trouble. I should wrap your wounds now. And then… will you hold me? Just for a little while. I am…” Bilbo says a word that Thorin has never heard before. It must be a hobbit word, and he is a little thrilled to think that that Shire Folk have their own secret language as well. 

“It would be no trouble.” 

Bilbo is obviously excited but he doesn't rush his work. When it is done, and Thorin’s wounds are wrapped once more he feels well cared for indeed. Thorin reaches for his tunic, but leaves off his armour. Redressed Thorin casts a nervous glance to the others: he is committed to helping Bilbo, but to been seen by everyone being intimate with Bilbo would be…

“We can go somewhere private, I don’t mind.” 

“You read my mind again.” Thorin smiles, relieved. 

“It isn’t difficult when your thoughts are plain to see!” 

Bilbo leads him outside, reaching for Thorin’s hand the moment they’re out of sight of the others. It is small and soft, and Thorin holds it as carefully as he would spun glass. They stop behind the hall, in a shaded corner hidden away. Without hesitation Bilbo presses himself against Thorin, face pressed into his sternum, and his arms wrap around Thorin’s back. Less confidently Thorin holds the hobbit back. Bilbo sighs and Thorin can feel all the tension leave the hobbit’s body. Guiltily, he thinks that Bilbo must have been suffering far more than he’d shown. 

It's as quiet as a summer day can be. The hot wind blows strong through the trees surrounding the hall, sounding uncannily like ocean waves on a rocky shore. Bilbo says nothing, and after a moment Thorin dares to run his fingers through the tempting gold of the hobbit’s hair. 

Curls are rare among dwarves, as is the soft nutty brown of Bilbo’s skin. With pointed ears, and wide green eyes, the hobbit is as fae thing, as lovely and strange to him as elves are to men. Only better, at least to Thorin’s mind, because this hobbit really did drop everything to help him. Thorin wonders how he could have ever thought so lowly of him as he’d done before. 

“You’re thinking too much.” Bilbo murmurs into Thorin’s tunic. 

“How could you possibly know that?” 

“You’re tense.” Bilbo looks up at him, pouting. “Don’t think. Just feel.” 

“Is that how hobbits do it?” 

“Of course! There’s never any need to be complicated. It’s such a waste.” 

Thorin raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Bilbo laughs. “Naturally everything dwarrow do has to be complicated!” 

“Do you think so?”

“I really do.” 

They talk like that for a while, silly banter of the kind that Thorin has not allowed himself to indulge in since he’d begun recruiting for his campaign back in Ered Luin. The time passes well; Thorin grows more confident, more bold: petting BIlbo’s hair, caressing his ears. Every touch is welcomed by the hobbit, and Thorin is pleased to provide.

When their legs grow tired from standing they sit, back to front, and Bilbo rests his head on Thorin’s shoulder. Bilbo regales him of stories of his home. Of the mock adventures he use to have with his cousins, of the time he’d gone hunting for fragrant mushrooms and found truffles instead. Of staying out until dark, and stealing pies out of window sills.

“So you are a burglar!” Thorin laughs,

“Only of unattended pies!”

“Tell me, how does your homeland stay safe? With such a fearsome figure as yourself there!”

They laugh together bright and euphoric. Then Bilbo says:

“The place was chosen carefully, you know. It’s warm enough that the river rarely friezes, and since it’s deep and fast it is hard to cross in most places. There is the Old Forest, which is not easy to get through! On the other side, not too far from the Shire is Ered Luin too, so any invaders from that side are stopped right quick by your folk. Technically this Shire is apart of the kingdom of Arnor, though we govern ourselves thank you very much! The men folk have their rangers who often patrol close to the Shire too. 

“How cunning!” 

“Do you think so?” 

“I really do.” 

Thorin feels Bilbo’s laugh in his chest; it pains his wounds a little, but he doesn’t mind. In fact he begins to feel rather refreshed himself. Perhaps the hobbits are onto something. Grinning, Bilbo shifts so he can see Thorin’s face, he drags his fingers through his beard curiously; tugs on one of Thorin’s braid gently. 

“Thank you for this.” he says, and then his stomach rumbles so fiercely that it’s Thorin’s turn to laugh. 

“If you are well then, Master Burglar, perhaps some supper?” 

“Careful Your Highness,” Bilbo says as they stand, “Talk like that is for wooing!” he laughs again, and doesn’t see the mighty redness of Thorin’s blush. ‘I’m doomed’, Thorin thinks, and doesn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay...  
> This is actually the third idea I had for this exchange! The first one was a Hobbit AU based on the mini-series North & South. I was really excited for that one... I was halfway done the outline, reached 10,000 words just from that and realized there was no way I was going to make this a readable fic in the time I had. Then I had this whole Soul-Mate fic idea, but that was going to be impossible too. OTL 
> 
> So I ended up with this! Haha... ~~I'm sorry~~
> 
> Unbetaed and dialogue heavy because that's how I roll I guess. It's been ages since I've written anything, I hope it's okay. I'm also super bad at ending things...
> 
> Anyway Merry Christmas!


End file.
